It’s been 5 weeks since the Planned Parenthood video investigation scandal first broke. My heart is heavy and I’ve been spending much of this past month trying to collect my thoughts. I feel a mix of disgust and anger and horror and relief. Relief that this darkness is being brought to light. It’s quite a bit to process: I feel like we are standing inside one of those pivotal moments in history and yet I feel completely inadequate and inert. I think part of my problem is that I’m overwhelmed by all of the nonstop information about the investigation. Every time I open any social media account there’s a new article, a fresh angle, a new video, and on and on and on. I check out blogs or open the newspaper and there are new talking points and viewpoints and opinion polls and infographics and hash tags. And everyone is trying to say all the things that need to be said. And I’ve got nothing new to say. I just can’t keep up with all the zings and truth bombs and clever memes and creative analogies and smart arguments and all the words. It’s moving so fast and the conversation keeps shifting and to be honest it leaves me numb and paralyzed. Not because I am apathetic but because I care so much. And because I’m scared. This battle has really just begun. Is something really going to change? It has to. It just has to. But then I read the words of pro-choicers and fence-sitters and it feels like the same old volleying back and forth of attacks and...

This morning I took all of my children to the doctor’s office for my oldest son’s well-child appointment. They were as quiet and respectful as is humanly possible for 5 boys under 10 years old, and so I decided to treat them with a trip to a nearby park. The only problem: I had no idea how to get there. I made my best guess and turned onto a road that I had never been on before. I pulled up to a stop sign and waited for the traffic to clear so that I could drive through the intersection. I waited for the cars to drive past. But they stopped also. I thought it was weird that they were stopping, so I took a second to look around. Did someone just run out into the road? It took a moment for it to register that, no, they were waiting for me. I realized that I was at a 4-way-stop, and the other cars had also stopped at their stop sign. I had the right-of-way and didn’t know it. It was obvious that the other drivers knew the rules of this road. A woman in one of the cars was very upset with me and my ignorance. And she expressed her frustration in all kinds of fun ways – some yelling, some horn honking, some dramatic PG-13 gestures. Why? Because I didn’t know something that I should have known. As I continued on my way I ran through a whole gamut of emotions. I felt foolish and embarrassed because I should have been paying better attention. Then I felt annoyed...

May 8th, 2015 marks the 70th anniversary of the surrender of German forces and the liberation of the concentration camps used in WWII to systematically murder and persecute millions of people. The upcoming day has caused me to reflect and think about the Holocaust and the estimated 11 million people who lost their lives. I’ve been thinking about the people who survived and how most of them have passed away, taking their stories and memories with them. And I’ve been thinking about the moment that the Holocaust shifted from being a subject I learned about in school; a chapter in a history textbook accompanied by an appropriate-for-elementary-school photo of some sad scared kids behind a fence to something that really happened. That moment came one summer afternoon at my grandparents’ house. Their home was like a museum – packed full of all of the things that make up a life. My grandpa was something of a pack rat, never getting rid of anything. When an aunt had gone back to visit in her 20’s she cleaned out her things and dropped them off at a local second hand store. After she left my grandpa went down to the store and convinced them that there had been a mistake. He brought everything home and put it all back where it had been. My grandparents raised 7 children in this place and the bedrooms and main rooms of the house looked the same as they did 20-30 years prior. Closets and dressers still full of teenagers’ things: perfume bottles, journals, MAD magazines, clothing, high school reports, trophies and 4H ribbons. ...

Did you read the comments on Ellie’s post from last week How Christians Might Be Sabotaging the Pro-Life Movement? They were just as interesting as the post! Ellie’s post went live and within 24 hours there were over 60 comments, plus more on Facebook. The response was more than I was anticipating, and I was relieved to see that the majority of the comments were encouraging and positive. But there was some debate and infighting and name calling, and to be honest, my heart sank a little. Granted, I’ve heard worse between my own five young sons (“Dummy” is the insult of the week), but it was still discouraging for me. It wasn’t even pro-lifers arguing with people who are pro-choice! It was people who all want the same thing. It left me wondering: Is our best energy spent arguing with one another? We are on the SAME team. We all want the same thing, right? I agreed to be a part of this blog because I fully support the Anti-Choice Project and its mission of making abortion impossible to ignore or trivialize and I want to step up my involvement in ending this holocaust. But is this really something I want to deal with? Maybe my skin is too thin. Is this what it means to be pro-life: Pointing out straw-man arguments like it’s my part-time job? Trying to outdo another with my ability to copy and paste Bible verses to prove a point? After reading all of the comments on Ellie’s post from last Monday, I was doubting myself. Maybe it’s better to stay under the...